


Teiwaz

by WolfVenom



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Not ship centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11770329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfVenom/pseuds/WolfVenom
Summary: A rune that enforces positive regulation and immense sacrifice to achieve greater good.---Bilbo requests Tauriel's help in returning painful memories to Dís.





	Teiwaz

**Author's Note:**

> A certain hobbit and his brief elf friend want to make sure that the last daughter of Durin can be at peace with herself after the tragedy on the mountain.
> 
> In this universe Dís becomes Queen instead of Dain becoming King.

She was a warrior at heart, this all folk knew. A leader in battle, though she preferred to stay away from the fight ever since the dragon nestled in what was once Erebor. There was no lie, she yearned to carve through orc and dragon flesh, but grief was a maiming thing, and there were chores and cares to take at home. Thorin, bless his soul, understood this heartily, and in return for his honour, she bid her sons to accompany him to reclaim what they lost.

 

To her oldest she gave a sash of fur, skinned from wretched wargs as valuable trophy in battle. And to her youngest she gifted a stone, polished and carved, protections breathed into the very sediment itself. They were bred from warriors, her precious young, and she was confident by the hair on her chin they would emerge victorious. Azog was no more, Thorin and his company guarded her children, and kingdoms stewed with bated breath to bring down the dragon at a ravens mere call.

 

Dís, daughter of Thrain, son of Thrór, sister to Thorin Oakenshield and mother to Kíli and Fíli, and the soon to be inheritor of the Lonely Mountain.

 

All throughout the months she received letters from her children, often times written in two separate handwritings on the same piece of parchment. From hobbits to trolls and great wizards, packs of wargs and beautiful elves. Fíli joked greatly at his brothers expense at the misfortunate flirting with a talented ellon*. They both spoke highly of their new Hobbit friend and loved him dearly. Bifur was doing well, it was nice to hear.

 

Many moons after their expedition took off, the small raven Gellárrd, who had carried the messages from bearer to borne, passed peacefully. She was Fíli’s favourite, and as such had an honourable burial, and Dís sent back young Baïn to take her place. It was the first time the papers came to her crinkled with dried tears.

 

The letters became brief and she was notified by Thorin that they would be sending less and less the closer they got to Smaug. Baïn clicked his beak on his last venture and whispered words of a brave Silvan elf, who had saved her son's life. The raven was then relieved of his work and allowed to sleep his days away at Dís’s home.

  


~*~

  


Tauriel held the rock in her palm, caressed each engraving with delicate and bloodied fingers. Hands that have seen war and brought death to many enemies. At her hip stood Bilbo Baggins. He carried a sack in his hand and his pack on his shoulders. He looked as if he would tumble over in a whisper of wind, but his body held the strength his sorrowful eyes did. Dain had stayed behind yet had gifted them his fastest goat available for the small hobbit to ride with. He sniffled once, exhaling a breath on the mere verge of tears and stepped towards the gates.

 

Tauriel followed wordlessly, head cast downwards in a silent plea for none to show her pity.

  


~*~

  


Dís welcomed them into her home in silence, brought them platters of cured boar meat and tankards of ale. She ended up drinking both, ever prepared for the news those stricken faces and dirty hands brought.

 

“You have news of my family, have ye not?” She spoke, face defiant against the anxiety that fuelled her, “speak then, what has befallen at the battle of the five armies?”

 

The silvan stood whilst her companion searched for his voice. She cared not, simply watched her gaze upon frames of pressed bugs and a messy scribbled drawing a babe had done.

 

Baggins held out his burden wrapped in an old sheet and Dís took it, unwrapping the bounty as he let go of his words.

 

“I - I’m sorry your highness… your family won't be returning home.” He mumbled with the strength of a rabbit.

 

Inside the muddy sheet was a well tended fur sash and a rusted key, attached to a string of fine leather.

Dwarves were hardy and brave. They fought wars bigger than themselves and yelled louder than a bear roared. Arrows nor steel could bring them down without a fight. But grief was the one agony that could crumble the proudest warriors to their knees.

 

The shock hit Dís first; Baïn squawking and coming to rest at his carers shoulder, grooming through the hairs on her head and chin. She rubbed the fur this way and that and felt the worn out skin from days long wear. Her eyes followed bits and bobbles which lined the hearth that held memories of her brother and sons. With stiff hands and the tremble of abated sobs, the princess carefully set the folded sash besides a whittled tusk and placed Thorin’s birthright atop it, gingerly making room before the fire.

 

The elf and hobbit did not disturb her. The tears fell and she did not wipe them away, just watched the drops cling to her nose and fall to the floor. From her left shoulder a hand rested, and tentatively, sharing the loss of three who impacted them all heavily, settled her palm atop the elf’s. She stood and asked the hobbit, “did my boys suffer?”

 

Baggins hung his head, “fought valiantly though they did, I can not tell if they passed peacefully in triumph or in the bitter agony they left us with in their wake.”

 

Nodding, blinking the last of the water from her eyes, feeling the puffy sting of her nasals.

 

“And were they honoured, buried like the warriors and kings they were?”

 

Baggins nodded slowly, holding a sparkling vest to his mouth, as if pressing the memories there to his lips.

 

The elf softly ushered Dís to face her, and in her palm she opened to a black stone, crusted with blood and grit. She accepted it, looking at the runes and scraping the surface with her blunt nails, flaking red to her fingers. Blood that likely was her own. Briefly, she wondered if the plea to return home, that she had carved into the talisman, was for Kíli or the rock itself.

 

Her answer was there, though. The stone was in her arms and not her child. Though she wished to hug her babies close one last time, to tug at their ears and kiss their cheeks, and to tease her brother for his recklessness, her longing was in vain and reciprocated by only mementos.

 

“You, lass, can hold onto this yerself,” came her quiet plea, “I fear if I keep it I may never rest knowing he never came back. If it travels with ye, I can sleep believing he is wandering and seeing that which he never could.

 

“My son fell easily, aye. But his heart lay with only a few things. Loyalty, honour and his family, that of which he wished you a part of…”

 

The elf looked into her eyes, and reflected there was that love and despair they felt equally in tandem.

 

A dozen heartbeats passed and Dís straightened, pushing back her grief for when she lay alone.

 

“Thorin would not want us wallowing. Let us proudly accept their sacrifice. Fíli nor Kíli died with him to see us babbling like buffoons.” She bid them farewell and safe travel from her home, watched as they disappeared over the horizon and with them her endurance. Once the door was closed she broke down against it and wailed, clutching her necklace to her breast. Portraits of her offspring and her father, of both her brothers and the old bloodhound they had years ago lined walls that seemed more bare than ever.

 

The songs the dwarves sang that night were solemn and tender,

 

‘ _I saw the light,_

 

_fade from the sky._

 

_On the wind I heard a sigh._

 

_As the snowflakes covered,_

 

_my fallen brothers,_

 

_I will say this last goodbye.’_

 

Dís Oakenshield, honorable of her people and of her family, carried upon her back this grief into her reign, proudly though she ruled and loved that she was.

  


~*~

  
  
And upon the Mountain graves, the last ravens of Erebor perched.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this is headcanon stuff, but it serves to fill in missing pieces. The book and movie are foggy in my brain so forgive me~
> 
> (*) - a word for a male elf. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. Pardon the mistakes.


End file.
